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His face was gaunt and swarthy, scored with deep, savage lines.

In his hand he carried what appeared to be a stick, but as he laid it down upon the floor it gave a metallic clang.

Then from the pocket of his overcoat he drew a bulky object, and he busied himself in some task which ended with a loud, sharp click, as if a spring or bolt had fallen into its place.

Still kneeling upon the floor he bent forward and threw all his weight and strength upon some lever, with the result that there came a long, whirling, grinding noise, ending once more in a powerful click.

He straightened himself then, and I saw that what he held in his hand was a sort of gun, with a curiously misshapen butt.

He opened it at the breech, put something in, and snapped the breech-block.

Then, crouching down, he rested the end of the barrel upon the ledge of the open window, and I saw his long moustache droop over the stock and his eye gleam as it peered along the sights.

I heard a little sigh of satisfaction as he cuddled the butt into his shoulder, and saw that amazing target, the black man on the yellow ground, standing clear at the end of his fore sight.

For an instant he was rigid and motionless.

Then his finger tightened on the trigger.

There was a strange, loud whiz and a long, silvery tinkle of broken glass.

At that instant Holmes sprang like a tiger on to the marksman's back and hurled him flat upon his face.

He was up again in a moment, and with convulsive strength he seized Holmes by the throat; but I struck him on the head with the butt of my revolver and he dropped again upon the floor.

I fell upon him, and as I held him my comrade blew a shrill call upon a whistle.

There was the clatter of running feet upon the pavement, and two policemen in uniform, with one plain-clothes detective, rushed through the front entrance and into the room.

"That you, Lestrade?" said Holmes.

"Yes, Mr. Holmes. I took the job myself. It's good to see you back in London, sir."

"I think you want a little unofficial help. Three undetected murders in one year won't do, Lestrade. But you handled the Molesey Mystery with less than your usual - that's to say, you handled it fairly well."

We had all risen to our feet, our prisoner breathing hard, with a stalwart constable on each side of him.

Already a few loiterers had begun to collect in the street.

Holmes stepped up to the window, closed it, and dropped the blinds.

Lestrade had produced two candles and the policemen had uncovered their lanterns.

I was able at last to have a good look at our prisoner.

It was a tremendously virile and yet sinister face which was turned towards us.

With the brow of a philosopher above and the jaw of a sensualist below, the man must have started with great capacities for good or for evil.

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